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Insert plague joke here (the Pesach special 5780)

These are extraordinary times, so the traditional Pesach News from the Biblical Broadcasting Organisation has been cancelled, and in its place, for those of you who are going ahead with sedarim virtual or in-real-life, Gabrielquotes Publishing Ltd Co.UK hereby presents:

Foreword

At moments of crisis, Jews (and Brits, indeed) crack jokes. Despite the chaos going on around us, Pesach is still a time for joy and happiness and I invite you to read on to enjoy some lighthearted fun-poking about our current state of quarantine.

If you disagree with this approach, and think that every smile at such a serious subject is inappropriate, that’s fine too. Just don’t read on. Reading this blog post is optional.

Front matter

A traditional haggadah starts with instructions on how to find and burn any chametz. Since, this year, any search for chametz will be impossible due to the fact that every square inch of your floor is filled with toilet roll and pasta, we’ll skip over that and move straight on to…

Order of seder

  • Neirot (candles)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Kaddeish (misspelt kiddush)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Karpas (multi-storey)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Yachatz (pro-Israel, pro-peace)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Lachma (misspelt lechem)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Arba’ah (Latin for ‘tree’)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Haggadah (Inception style nesting of a book-within-a-book)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Pesach (Inception style nesting of a festival-within-a-festival)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Matzah (Latin for ‘cardboard’)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Maror (hoarse radish)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Koreich (rebelled against Moses in the desert)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Shulchan Oreich (sort of Jewish law book thing)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Tzafun (find the afikomen, rewards available)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Bareich (cheers Mate)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Hallel (We’d love to stay but the kids really need to go to bed now)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Nirtzah (byeeeee)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Urchatz (washing)
  • Erm…
  • That’s it.

Kaddeish

The leader raises the 60% alcohol handrub and says:

We praise You, Creator of the fruit of the aahhh the top wasn’t on it’s all in my eye and it stings and it cost £14!

Karpas

All take a piece of green herb, lean to the left (if at a Jewdas seder, to the far left), dip it in the nearest saline drip, and eat.

Yachatz

The leader breaks the middle matzah and replaces one half. The other half is taken away and hidden carefully so that if things get really bad in a few months’ time at least there’ll be a snack available.

Arba’ah

The youngest person recites, to a well-known tune:

Why is this night unlike other nights,
Unlike other nights? Unlike other nights?

For on regular nights we are all in the room
But now we are on Zoom; but now we are on Zoom –
For tonight is the night, yes tonight is the night
We break the stereotype:
For tonight is the night, yes tonight is the night
We celebrate by Skype.

For on regular nights peace and quiet is our goal
But now it’s toilet roll! But now it’s toilet roll!
For tonight is the night, yes tonight is the night
We stockpile our two-ply:
For tonight is the night, yes tonight is the night
We go out and panic-buy.

For on regular nights you could not make us beg
For salt-water and an egg; for salt-water and an egg –
But tonight is the night, yes tonight is the night
We count that as a thrill:
For tonight is the night, yes tonight is the night
We just hope not to get ill.

For on regular nights we would welcome a guest
But now they’d just infest! But now they’d just infest!
For tonight is the night, yes tonight is the night
We mistrust those who cough:
For tonight is the night, yes tonight is the night
That Elijah can p*ss off.

In the vein of some more modern haggadot, we also include four more modern questions that contemporary readers may have about this time of year:

  • Is it permissible to livestream a seder?
  • Do kosher shops actually have any idea of the prices that other places charge for food?
  • Do pigeons wonder what the f**k is going on at the moment?
  • Just how many children does Boris Johnson have?

On which note…

We are told of a father who had four sons, so he is already in breach of the ‘no gatherings of more than two people’ rule. The first son was wise, the second was wicked, the third was simple and a bore (in the 1981 Liberal haggadah) or simple and filled with awe (in the 2010 Liberal haggadah), and the fourth was too young to ask.

What does the wise one say? “What is genome sequencing?” To this child, teach all the laws of Covid, even this difficult one, that we should all avoid social contact yet keep schools and universities open for a few more days.

What does the wicked one say? “I’m young so I’ll be fine.” Make him eat his words by saying to him, “Yeah I hear that but it’s kind of not really the right attitude, know what I mean?”

What does the simple one say? “What’s a Wuhan?” This child should be sat quietly in the corner with an iPad so you can get on with your videoconference with Mandy from Accounts. (Can you tell I’ve never had an actual job? -GKW.)

For the one who is too young to ask, you should let them enjoy their blissful ignorance as if they were a participant on German Big Brother.

Haggadah

Even if we were all healthy, all able-bodied and all symptom-free, it would still be our duty to stay at home and self-isolate.

This is the poor bread which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let anyone who is hungry come in and eat but only if they want pasta. This year we are quarantined; next year we will be free. Now we are socially-distanced; next year at a communal seder.

A story is told of four rabbis who sat together at a seder in B’nai Brak: Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Joshua, Rabbi Eleazar son of Azariah, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarfonwarehouse. All night they discussed the story of the Exodus, until finally their pupils came and said to them, “Masters! You should all be sitting at least 2m apart!”

Rabbi Eleazar son of Azariah said, “Behold, I am like a seventy-year-old man…” at which the other rabbis interrupted and said he should, like, go home and stay in lockdown until the autumn.

My father was a wandering Aramean, primarily because none of the countries would let him in after he’d been wandering.

The Israelites cried out to the Almighty, who redeemed them with a strong hand and an outstretched arm (outstretched to keep them at a reasonable distance).

As the seder reaches its height of topical irony, we turn our thoughts to plague, specifically to the ten plagues. As we name each one, we spill a drop of hand sanitiser onto our napkin:

  • Lack of blood tests
  • Panic buying
  • Zoom getting overloaded
  • Ibuprofen
  • Analogies to the Blitz
  • The easyJet helpline
  • Lack of statutory sick pay
  • Unmuted microphonal buzzing on conference calls
  • Running out of things to watch on Netflix
  • (the big one) Daily press briefings from Boris Johnson

And now we sing to another well-known tune:

If Boris kept us in Containment, only kept us in Containment,
And hadn’t started the Delay phase –
Dayeinu!

Dai-dai-einu, dai-dai-einu, dai-dai-einu, dayeinu, dayeinu (x2)

If Boris started the Delay phase, only started the Delay phase,
And hadn’t grounded most air traffic –
Dayeinu!

Dai-dai-einu…

If Boris grounded most air traffic, only grounded most air traffic,
And hadn’t cancelled mortgage payments –
Dayeinu!

Dai-dai-einu…

If Boris cancelled mortgage payments, only cancelled mortgage payments,
And hadn’t closed the pubs and restaurants,
Dayeinu!

Dai-dai-einu…

If Boris closed the pubs and restaurants, only closed the pubs and restaurants,
And hadn’t run out of ventilation,
Dayeinu!

The bits and bobs from the seder plate

Rabban Gamliel used to say: If, at Pesach, you have not bought these three things from Kosher Kingdom for £29 each, you have not fulfilled your obligation – Pesach, matzah and maror.

The leader holds up the shankbone and says:

Why do we have a shankbone on our seder plate? In the days when the Temple still stood, this was literally all that our ancestors could get their hands on from the midst of the scrum of Pesach shoppers.

The leader holds up a piece of matzah and says:

Why do we eat this unleavened bread? Because our ancestors were in a desperate situation with but limited supplies… oh no this is just too real.

All present take a piece of matzah, lean to the left, and try surreptitiously to drop it into their neighbour’s pocket because, food shortages or no food shortages, nobody needs this.

Next, the leader holds up the bitter herbs and says:

Why do we eat these bitter herbs? Because all that was left on the shelves of the Tesco Metro was one onion and a jar of Colman’s Horseradish Sauce.

Rabbi Hillel used to take a bitter herb, dip it in charoset (a thick apple paste traditionally made at this time of year because otherwise the apples that everyone for some reason stockpiled would rot) and eat them together between two pieces of matzah. He did this centuries before the 4th Earl of Sandwich stole the idea, typical anti-Semite really.

Next, the leader reaches for the burnt egg, sees there isn’t one, turns to their householders, and is told, “Nah. No way we’d waste a good egg.”

Tzafun

While the adults talk about serious, worldly topics, they send the children off to hunt around the house for that last pack of face-masks that Cousin Freda definitely put down somewhere.

Some fun table songs

Who knows thirteen-oh – Sh’loshah-asar mi yodea?
I’ll sing you thirteen-oh:
Thirteen weeks’ social distancing
And twelve billion for closed restaurants.
Eleven days of virtual meetings
And ten for the beds in hospital.
Nine are the cancelled A-levels
And eight pounds of statutory sick pay.
Seven days of household quarantine
And six days of online shacharit.
Five milligrams of ibuprofen
And four times you’ve watched that boxset.
Three, three, remaining cakes of soap.
Two, two, the sedarim, we’re missing both with kith and kin:
One is our last sheet of loo roll, let’s try to preserve it!

Nirtzah

The next few months really are going to be a bit of a trial for us all. It won’t be the first trial we’ve faced as Jews: the very first Pesach night, indeed, was done hurriedly, in each household, in great discomfort, without major family gatherings. Probably with indigestion.

Thinking of all those whose lives have been affected by the astonishing situation in which we find ourselves, and all the medical and support staff working to contain the situation, we can say with more spirit than usual:

Next year in a world redeemed.

And what’s more, even before next year, we will get our seder.

Chag sameach!

Persons, things and premises – a Levitical reflection on lockdown

Synagogues are closed so this week’s sermon, like most of this week’s life, is online-only…

“During the emergency period, no person may leave the place where they are living without reasonable excuse.”

Three months ago none of us even dreamt that such a line would ever find its way onto the statute book. Three months ago, barely anyone had heard of Wuhan. But one pangolin and one bat in a city five-and-a-half thousand miles away managed, between them, to create unprecedented restrictions on our liberty here in the UK.

The emergency lockdown regulation, which came into force at 1pm last Thursday, relied on a sweeping power in the Public Health Act for ministers to impose “restrictions or requirements on or in relation to persons, things or premises”. Our religious premises have been closed, our people are being kept at home, and while our things are still more or less intact, the change to the rhythm of our lives is really quite remarkable.

Also really quite remarkable is the symmetry between the Public Health Act and those nasty bits of the Book of Leviticus that we try to gloss over whenever we can. Parashiot Tazria and M’tzora contain detailed regulations for dealing with an outbreak of disease affecting people (m’tzora), things (tzara’at ha-beged) and premises (tzara’at ha-bayit). Infectious or potentially infectious people would be isolated, infected garments destroyed and houses sealed up if they became contaminated. Just as with yesterday’s regulations, there were even punishments for those who broke the rules or refused to submit to testing.

Our current lockdown is extraordinary. And it’s especially telling that, when the Prime Minister announced it on that Monday evening, he identified only four exceptions – food shopping, exercising, providing care and accessing medical support – yet by the time it was turned into law, the list of reasonable excuses had grown to thirteen. He hadn’t thought about women fleeing domestic violence; children who alternate which parent they live with; donating blood. Even now there’s no provision for me to put the bins out, so I might just have to designate my dustbin as a place of worship and rely on my status as a minister of religion – another belated exemption.

The impact, and implications, of the entire population being kept at home for weeks on end is something that nobody really had any grasp of until incredibly recently. No wonder new exceptions keep being conjured up: who ever realised quite how much we depend on leaving our homes until we experiment with staying in them? All those times I was working extended hours and yearned for some time just to do nothing at home, and all of a sudden I have that chance and it’s not so nice after all.

It’s boring.

It’s claustrophobic.

It’s lonely.

It’s tiring.

It’s unhealthy.

It puts strain on relationships.

It’s a terrible working environment.

It’s scary.

On the other hand, though, it’s being part of something bigger: bigger in time and bigger in space. And right now, while we have to pass countless hours with little stimulation, we need to expand the horizons of our time. While trapped indoors, we need to expand the horizons of our space.

Being in a state of hesger, of quarantined isolation, takes us right back to the dawn of the Jewish people. The nasty, gory detail of those endless different types of sore, rash and skin disease are reflections of how our ancestors felt when there was contagion in their midst. For the first time – at least for the first time in my life – these passages are beginning to feel relevant. I’m beginning to sense a connection with the Israelites who, millennia ago, wanted to make sure that every rash got examined, that every infectious garment was destroyed.

Our co-operation with the lockdown also makes us part of something bigger: a complex national and international effort to slow the spread of coronavirus. So few people ever get the chance to save lives by literally sitting on their sofa and doing nothing. So, then, in fact, it’s not doing nothing. It’s saving lives.

Both the biblical measures and Matt Hancock’s regulations are not just about slowing infection but also, and equally importantly, about dispelling stigma and providing a route to normality.

Strange and unfamiliar circumstances cause fear, panic and misgivings. Most of us haven’t quite reached the despicable depths of the Telegraph columnist who declared, “After this, yet ‘Made in China’ be a badge of shame,” but I suspect we have all looked twice at someone who sneezed in our direction on a bus, or at the person buying two bags of pasta at the supermarket.

Society needs a way out, not just from the virus but also from the grasp of popular distrust. Focussing on what is important to us – first and foremost persons, but also things and premises – can lay stones paving a way forward.

As we move towards the strangest Pesach any of us will ever have faced, we recall and relive, and, this year in particular, identify with God’s instruction to our ancestors during the Exodus: “And you, none of you shall go outside the door of your house.”

That instruction, the rabbis tell us, was a recognition of just how deadly the Angel of Death was. Once unleashed upon the world, it would not distinguish between righteous and wicked, but would kill anyone with whom it came into contact. That sounds familiar. But even more familiar is what happens nine verses later: “Up! Leave my people! You, and all the Israelites, go!” The Exodus lockdown was a necessary precursor to true freedom.

This will be the strangest Pesach any of us will ever have faced. It may also be the most accurate, the one closest to the spirit of that original Pesach, when our ancestors cowered indoors in small family groups, before eventually realising and relishing the real value of liberation.

“During the emergency period, no person may leave the place where they are living without reasonable excuse.”

Liberation brings with it the duty to manage our own affairs. Liberation means we have the burden of handling emergencies. For the first time in our lives, it has become necessary to impose restrictions on our persons, our things and our places – and in doing so, we create a better and more free world for the future.

Shabbat shalom, and keep safe.

Further reading

Allison Pearson

Exodus 12:22, 31

Health Protection (Coronavirus) Regulations 2020

Health Protection (Coronavirus, Restrictions) (England) Regulations 2020

Leviticus 12:1-15:33

Mechilta d’Rabbi Ishmael, Pisha 11

Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Tum’at Tzara’at 10-15

Public Health (Control of Disease) Act 1984